


In The Bar Bathroom

by dontkissthewriter



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominant Spencer Reid, Edging, F/M, Jealous behavior, Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, Mirror Sex, No Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, POC Reader, POV First Person, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Praise, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut, Spencer Reid Smut, Top Spencer Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25968952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontkissthewriter/pseuds/dontkissthewriter
Summary: You broke Spencer's curfew. Luckily enough for you, he's kind enough to come get you himself.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Brown Skinned Reader, Spencer Reid/POC Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader Insert, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 201





	In The Bar Bathroom

No later than nine.

That was the agreed upon time—a suggestion thrown out over dinner, accepted mostly because I didn’t care enough to argue. It didn’t seem like an impossible hoop to jump through. If anything, the earlier than typical curfew was a relief, an easy escape from a night of boredom and stale conversations with a friend I hadn’t seen in almost a year.

No later than nine, he would call, and I would go home. My phone was charged, ready, tucked into the small clutch I carried with me. I expected the night to be slow. Awkward but bearable, like most reunions were. So, imagine my surprise when, after sliding into the seat across from my once close friend, we immediately fell into a sprightful conversation. One drink became—too many. Enough for me to unconsciously decline the call with one swipe of my finger, never looking away from Daisy. It didn’t really register in my mind that it was Spencer calling. Didn’t register that I probably could’ve gotten away with pushing the curfew if I _had_ answered and simply told him that I was having a good time.

But wait, there’s more!

Because the universe had apparently decided to fuck me over twice in one night, Daisy decided to drag me out of my seat and up to the bar, where we struck up a conversation with two doctors still in their scrubs. She wanted to flirt, I wanted to know what kind of patients drove them to taking tequila shots all night—eight each, I counted—so we each chose a man and started talking.

Declining the call—strike one. Talking to some guys, that was two. Letting Spencer catch me talking to some guys after declining his call was three.

“Darling,” he murmured, sliding seamlessly into the empty spot beside me.

As if the fact that he had already seen me wasn’t enough, I had to go ahead and act all guilty by jumping, shoving my drink away from me, turning my back like I could block him from seeing the two doctors.

_Shit. Doctors. He won’t like that._

Spencer fixed me with a steady, sheltered look, not revealing anything. But dating a profiler means I had picked up few things—I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands shook just a bit as he moved to gently stroke my arm.

“Spencer!” I blurted, grinning like a dope. My eyes shifted back and forth, from his hand—big, veiny, scarier than the last time I saw it—to his eyes. “What are you doing here, baby?”

From the way his scowl deepened, that was a bad move. I only called him baby when I wanted to butter him up, make him feel good. My head was still reeling from his surprise visit, and I had yet to switch from my _having fun_ brain to my _I’m in trouble_ brain. 

He leaned in a bit; eyes fixed on the three people behind me. “It’s past eleven.”

_Fuck. Shit. Goddamn. Motherfucker. Fuck._

When I spoke, it was high pitched and shaky. “Oh! Wow! That’s—shit—well, we better get going, right? Josephine, I’m ready to cash out!” I turned to the side, fumbling in my wallet for my card.

He snatched the card out of my hands and handed it to the bartender without ever looking away from me. “Let’s go over here,” he said, fingers latching around my wrist and tugging before I could even open my mouth. He led us through the semi-crowded bar, parting the sea of people easily. I stared at the back of his head like an idiot, mesmerized by the way his hair—which was getting more like a mane by the day—shone under the lights.

I probably should’ve been thinking up an apology. Or bracing myself for the punishment no doubt heading my way. Or—really doing anything else than just being a tipsy idiot. “Spencer, baby—”

“Save it,” he snapped. The first time he dropped his façade of calmness. “Don’t say anything until I say you can.”

My jaw clacked when I shut it. I liked the noise enough to keep doing it, focusing on the _taptaptap_ of my teeth hitting each other rather than the fact that my tall, pissed off, dominating boyfriend was pulling me into the single person women’s bathroom and locking the door behind us.

As soon as we entered, he threw my arm away like I wasn’t worth holding on to. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just crossed to the sink and straightened out his tie, cardigan—because of course he would come to gather his rogue sub fully dressed. Damnit. Why did he have to be so attractive?

Gnawing on my lip, I clasped my hands behind me and stared at the floor. It took a moment for me to realize this was my submissive pose, the one he typically wanted me to wait in while he decided what to do with me. It was difficult for me to keep my mouth shut, especially when I was so nervous, but I knew that talking would just be pushing my luck. _Especially_ after a direct order to keep quiet.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face. It was getting so long now. Sometimes, if I wasn’t tied up, he would let my rake my fingers through the strands and pull on it until his head bent back, and I would sink my teeth into his throat until I left bite marks all around the soft skin for his coworkers to see. He would never admit it, but I knew he loved it when I marked him up just as much as he loved doing it to me.

After taking a deep breath, he turned to me and beckoned me over with two fingers. I moved forward, entranced by his presence, which seemed to fill up the entire room.

“Take off your jacket,” he said softly. Nothing was more dangerous than a soft-spoken Spencer.

Eyes wide, I did as he said, never questioning him. While I knew that he was mad—livid, probably—I also knew he was probably twice as relieved to find out that I was still at the bar, having just let time slip away from me. I trusted that he would take care of me. Even if it meant having to punish me first.

After all, what fun was a little disobedience without the repercussions?

“Spread it out on the floor, then kneel.”

It was difficult to suppress my smile. Spencer loved me kneeling—something about the way I had to crane my head to look at him, almost like in worship, waiting for him to tell me what to do. Completely in control of my body. I knew he wanted the control over me more than anything else. Knew having someone trust him so completely and without limit—especially after prison—was more therapeutic for him than any thirty-day break or work mandated counseling.

But there was no grievance big enough for him to make me kneel on the floor of a public bathroom without something underneath me. He wouldn’t go within ten feet of me if I had touched it with my bare skin, no doubt.

I did as he said, carefully lowering myself so as not to topple over in my almost inebriated state. I tucked my hands under my thighs—kneeling position—and peered up at him. Already, my stomach was stirring in excitement. I was like a trained dog, waiting for a treat.

Spencer bent over slightly, enough to hook a finger under my chin and peer into my eyes. “Are you sober?”

_Oh. He’s checking my pupils. That’s sweet._

My anxiety was drained out by a flood of pure love for him. Always making sure I was able to consent, always able to deny him, always with that little bit of power. He had told me, long ago, that I really held the power in our relationship. I had outwardly laughed at him, until he explained. He told me that without my express consent every single time— _every_ single time, without fail—nothing would happen. Told me that if I ever wanted to stop, no matter how into it we were or how far it had gotten, he would always stop and make sure I was okay with what was happening.

For whatever reason, him asking that made me hornier for him than any of the dirty promises he was prone to whispering into my ear. Something about a man understanding consent really does it for me, I suppose.

“Sober, ready and willing,” I told him. I tilted my head into his hand, enjoying the way his warmth bled into my cheek. “It’s okay, Spencer. Do your worst.”

His hand flipped, fingers pressing into my jaw to hold me still. My breath caught in my throat. “Oh, I intend to.” His voice slithered over my skin, raising goosebumps. “Would you be a dear and tell me everything you did wrong tonight?”

I racked my brain, trying to list everything in a coherent way. “Uh, I didn’t answer your call. I stayed out past curfew. I talked to other men.”

He nodded along with all of it, free hand twitching at his side. Probably fighting the urge to give me a sharp smack to the cheek—or ass. “And?”

“And I’m sorry, sir.”

“Because?”

“Because you’re in charge, and I should’ve followed your orders. Because you know what’s best for me.”

It was, in theory, the perfect apology. I knew what he wanted to hear. He pulled away.

Slowly loosening his tie, Spencer hummed thoughtfully. He wasn’t looking at me, but at the door behind me. “And what exactly was going through your head when you decided to… disrespect, ignore, and disobey me?”

Here, I stumbled. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Of _course,_ you weren’t thinking. Apparently, I need to do the thinking for the both of us, if it’s so easy for you to just _stop_. Are you stupid, darling? Did you lose some brain cells somewhere along the line?”

My cheeks flushed red. He knew I was a praise-desperate girl, which meant that he knew exactly how to fill me with the desired amount of embarrassment.

“No, sir.”

“Can you give me a proper explanation this time, and not a lazy excuse?” He was now unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling them and his cardigan sleeves up to reveal his toned forearms.

My nails dug into my calves. “I… I was disobedient because I was irresponsible and drank too much. I’m sorry.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “You’re certainly going to be. On the counter.”

I hopped to my feet so fast I almost stumbled over, but caught myself before he had to step in. If I stumbled while getting up, he would probably assume I was still drunk and would call everything off.

And I _really_ didn’t want him to call anything off. Not with the way I could feel my underwear dampening.

Quickly, I hoisted myself onto the high counter next to the sink, legs kicking nervously. My fingers curled around the countertop, holding me steady. When he came closer, putting his hands on my exposed knees, I admired the contrast in our skin. He was so much paler than me, ten sets of white fingers against the brown background of my skin. I watched his thumbs move, stroking it. Working me up on purpose, no doubt.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured. “No wonder those men at the bar couldn’t keep their eyes off you. I wouldn’t be able to, either.”

“We weren’t flirting,” I said. The need to reassure him of this overcame the urge to stay silent. “Seriously.”

He sneered. “ _They_ were. I saw them looking at you.”

“How were they looking at me?”

He leaned in closer, kissing my cheek, whispering in my ear in a way that made my stomach clench. “Exactly the way I look at you when you have your legs spread for me.”

Shivers and chills racked my body. I leaned into him instinctively, seeking the warmth and solidness of his body. With one broad hand, he pushed me away. Forcing my back against the wall. His hands fell to my knees again, parting them, pushing my legs as far away from each other as they would go. My dress hiked up, revealing the underwear that he had picked out for me.

“Sort of like this,” he clarified. Then he bent at the waist, the counter high enough for him to place delicate butterfly kisses on the inside of my thighs, slowly working his way up. “I’m not surprised you were getting hit on. But I am surprised you didn’t notice. Never knew you to be obtuse.” His teeth scraped against the thin skin, nipping lightly.

My breath hitched. I knew I wasn’t allowed to touch him without permission, but _god_ I wanted to so bad. I clenched my hands into fists, fighting the urge. By the time he would get to my underwear, they would be utterly destroyed. “Sir, please,” I whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, he was using his teeth, tongue, and lips to form a bruise on the inside of my thigh, close enough to my core that his head brushed it. My back arched, a single cry leaving before I slapped a hand over my mouth, not wanting any employees to come knocking on the door. My legs shook from the mix of pain and pleasure, aching to close around his head and keep him there forever.

One of his hands remained on my knee, keeping it held away for better access, the other went straight to my pussy, stroking me over my underwear. He hummed in satisfaction at the wetness there, which sent waves of pleasure through my body.

He pulled away.

I openly whined at him.

Spencer smiled innocently. He liked it when I whined. He liked it when I _begged_.

_Ohhhh. Fuck!_

The realization hit me like a bag of bricks. Of _course,_ that would be my punishment. He knew how easily he could bring me to the edge, especially when I was already worked up.

“Spenc—sir, please, please—”

“Shh,” he interrupted. “Don’t bother whining for me to fuck you now. You wanted to be selfish by ignoring my orders, now it’s my turn. And don’t let me catch you covering your mouth. Be good for me, maybe I’ll let you come.”

Before I could say anything to that—what was there to say, really?—he was lowering his head again, mouthing at me over my underwear. I gasped, hips twitching for a moment before his hands came up to hold me in place.

Hesitantly, I placed my hands on his broad shoulders, still covered by his brown cardigan. It was one of my favorites—so soft. Maybe he would let me wear it when he was done, since I had no doubt he wouldn’t let me put the floor jacket back on. There was a solid chance he would throw it away entirely.

He allowed the unpermitted contact, but probably only because I was shaking enough that he knew I needed the help staying upright.

His teeth grazed my clit, then snagged the fabric of my panties and pulled it away from my skin before letting it snap back into place. I jerked at the sting, legs widening unintentionally. By then, my dress was above my hips. It would be wrinkled when I pulled it back down.

“So good for me,” he praised. “So wet. Are you always this desperate, darling?”

“O—only for you, sir,” I managed to choke out. It felt like my throat was closing in on itself, with the way I had to gasp for air. My hands curled into the fabric, bunching up two handfuls of it.

He nipped at the skin on my hips. “If you stretch out this cardigan, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

My fingers sprang open. “Sorry, sir. I’m sorry.”

As an unspoken forgiveness, he kissed the same spot he had nipped at. His hands slid under the sides of my underwear, pulling it down to my knees. The cold air exposed to my cunt made my thighs clench, but he quickly massaged the tension out of them. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “I wanna make you beg for me.”

“I’m already— _oh!_ ” My hips jerked, his tongue dipping into my pussy to lap up my juices. Staring down at him, all I could see were the muscles in his back flexing under his layers, and his unruly hair spilling into his face. Taking initiative, I pushed it away, then dug my fingers in to guarantee him optimum access.

I’m just thoughtful like that.

He devoured me eagerly, his tongue so expertly trained with my reactions that he knew how to get me moaning in seconds. My thighs clenched around his head, trying to keep his tongue as deep in me as possible.

It was almost fucking magical, the way he got me crying out his name so quickly. His mouth moved up, away from my soaked—and destroyed, and desperate, and clenching cunt—to focus entirely on my clit. His plush lips suctioned around the hard nub, tongue slowly and agonizingly toying with it.

My legs spasmed, a series of whines and begs falling out before I could stop it. While I couldn’t focus enough to really say anything coherent, I imagine it being something like _Oh god oh fuck oh please Spencer sir baby please please yesyesYES—_

And then he fucking pulled away again.

“No!” I wailed, hooking my legs around his waist as he stood up. My hands stayed in his hair, keeping him at least eye level.

His eyes told the tale of a man possessed, a grin shaping his face before he was leaning in, kissing me eagerly, shoving his tongue in my mouth to make me taste myself. We were both panting before he pulled away. “See, darling? See how fucking good you are for me?”

“Just for you,” I agreed, pulling him in closer, craving more.

But he pulled away—always doing the opposite of what I wanted—and bent down again, returning his mouth to me.

Crying out, I felt the ball of fire in my stomach start to spark and spread, dangerously close to orgasming without permission. Though I wanted to so bad—so, so, so bad—I still managed to wheeze, “I’m—please, I’m gonna come—”

He retreated enough that the fire returned to a kindle. Then right when I started untensing, he went right back to it, eating me out like it was his only purpose in life. It felt like a convoluted worship. Him bringing me right to the brink, but then pulling me away. Again and again and again. It might as well have been withholding a steak from a starving man, with the way I began begging mindlessly for him to just finish the job already.

At some point I started actually crying, pointless tears falling down my cheeks. He either didn’t mind or didn’t care—it wasn’t the first time I started crying during sex, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Finally, he pulled away, not bothering to wipe away the juices from his lips and jaw. There was a devious look in his eyes, one I didn’t like. “You know what,” he started casually. Like my thighs hadn’t been threatening to crush his skull five seconds ago. “Maybe you don’t deserve to come at all, tonight. You broke a lot of rules.”

There were no words strong enough to describe the rage that filled me at such a simple sentence. “Sir,” I growled. “ _Tell me_ you aren’t serious.”

He leaned it, pressed a messy kiss to my cheek. “I’m fucking with you. Bend over the counter.”

I was shoving him away before he fully finished, sliding off and spinning around to prop myself up. In this position, I was in front of the mirror, watching him admire me from behind. I bent over more, exposing myself as much as possible for him.

Spencer undid his belt, not even bothering to push his pants down more than a couple inches. As soon as there was enough room for him to remove his hard cock, he was doing it, stroking himself casually while making eye contact with me through the reflection.

I whimpered. Mouth watering. Legs shaking. Absolutely devoted to him.

“Say please,” He requested softly, rubbing my back like I was a timid puppy.

“Please, sir,” I breathed. “Fuck, please, I need you, I need you so _bad_.”

He seemed pleased enough by it. “Watch yourself,” he ordered. Dropping my gaze, he pressed himself to my overstimulated cunt, breaching me at an agonizingly slow pace. I could feel every soft inch of skin travel further and further inside of me. Even after all this time, it still felt like a tight fit. Still felt like he was going to rip me in half. He knew it, too. He _loved_ it.

Though it was a struggle to keep my eyes off him, I managed to look at myself. And _fuck_ if it wasn’t so much better. Watching him split me apart, work into me like every inch was a struggle to fit—it made my knees weak and my breath stop entirely.

Like he could read my mind—sometimes I thought he could—he murmured, “Breathe, honey.” He seemed distracted. I broke the rules for just a moment to look at him, and saw that he was also watching his dick enter me. I wondered if he was just as transfixed by it as I was, or if he was watching the way our skin clashed so beautifully. His eyes flickered up to mine.

_Caught_.

But he didn’t seem to mind so much. Spencer delivered a quick swat to my ass, making me jump and clench around him—we both sucked in air—but otherwise didn’t do anything about it.

Nevertheless, I did as he said and looked back in the mirror where our bodies were connected. He filled me up so nicely, hitting every centimeter of nerves I had, splitting me apart with his size. It was a struggle to stop from crying out entirely when he finally bottomed out, staying there for a moment.

Slow. The pace was so horribly, painfully, terrible slow. Keeping me shaking but not finishing, desperate but never satisfied. _The bastard was enjoying it!_ Even though it must have been torturous for him, he would withhold as long as possible just to keep me on edge.

“Please,” I begged. “Faster, sir, please, please, _please!_ ” I was pathetic, maybe, but it worked. He began moving faster, hips picking up the rhythm. When he began bumping my cervix—tiny jolts of pain which only added to the pleasure—my eyes rolled, mouth dropping open.

“Just like that, darling, so good, so fucking perfect.” He groaned, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. Hands so tight on my hips that it would bruise the way he liked. “Maybe—I should just fucking never let you finish, if it means I get to keep you so obedient like this. You’re so much easier to handle— _ah_ , _fuck—_ when you’re desperate for me.” He was panting, too, warm breathes puffing over the back of my neck.

I clenched around him, walls tightening around his throbbing cock.

One of his hands snaked around my body to thumb at my clit. The first contact startled me enough for my hips to twitch, bucking on him. He steadied me, kept going.

The fire was back. All consuming, burning every nerve and vein and cell in my body, a roaring, selfish thing, deafening me to my own cries. “I’m gonna—gonna—Spencer!”

His lips met my neck, sucking a dark bruise into the skin. “Come on me,” he ordered, “right now or not at all.”

The ultimatum was enough to make me not just fall or spiral over the edge, but wholeheartedly _jump_ off the cliff, landing in a pool of sweet, sweet ecstasy.

I turned my head to the side, so as to muffle my cries in his lips. The genius must have had the same idea, because he echoed my moans while spilling himself inside me. Hot ropes of his finish pulsed inside, filling me up and coating his own dick while he kept moving until he was done entirely.

While I bent over, gasping for air, Spencer pulled out, pulling my underwear up to trap the semen inside me. I heard him fixing himself up, tucking himself away. Unconsciously, I reached for one of the paper towels and ran it under warm water, then passed it over my shoulder to him. To my surprise, he used it on me first, running over the back of my neck and the inside of my thighs before turning it on himself.

By the time I had gathered myself enough to stand—legs shaking like a newborn deer’s—he was put together again. Always the first to fall apart and the first to recover.

He helped me stand upright again, hands on my forearms. His right thumb traced the small implant in my arm, reassuring himself of my protection. That was the one of the only hard limits I had—protection at all times. He paid for the implant himself.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes searching my face.

I grinned. “I am… amazing.” Hooking a hand behind his neck, I pulled him to my mouth, giving him a long kiss. “Are you ready to go?”

Spencer nodded, hands stroking my arms. He pulled away just long enough to unbutton and take off his cardigan, helping me into it like the sweetheart he was. Just like I suspected, he picked up my jacket with two fingers and tossed it into the trash.

Opening my mouth, I stopped for a knock on the door. The voice of Josephine, my bartender, came through.

“Are you done? You cashed out an hour ago… and there’s a line.”

We weren’t invited back to that particular bar.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! follow me on tumblr: dontkissthewriter


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